Hearing-Beyond
by FuneralCricket
Summary: The Giver gives Jonas the memory of hearing-beyond, instead of keeping it for himself. Jonas is confronted with a realm of experience he never even knew existed...
1. Chapter 1

As soon as the final class of school finished, Jonas ran to where his bicycle stood in his port. He swung his leg over the seat and pedaled fast, eager to reach the Annex room. In his haste, he bumped into two departing Tens, and he had to apologize to both of them and put the papers back in their homework folders. As soon as they had ridden off very disgruntled, he mounted his bike again and pedaled off rapidly.

He reached the Annex room and wheeled his bike into the port, leaving it leaning instead of upright, and hurried inside. He gave a quick nod to the attendant and hurried into the room.

Jonas knew he was acting ridiculous, in such a hurry to get to training, but he could not restrain his actions. Each afternoon, he lived for what he experienced in the Annex room. In his ordinary life, he could not stop thinking about the secrets and truths imparted in him, the vibrancy they gave his life, the way they made him feel so proud to be the lucky one chosen for them.

Yesterday, The Giver had promised him the wonderful memory of hearing-beyond, or music. Jonas could not imagine what music was. He reviewed what he already knew—it was something you heard, and no one except he and The Giver had ever heard it. Jonas wondered if he had already heard beyond, but he simply had not realized it. He pushed aside these speculations, as he took off his tunic and moved to the bed. He reminded The Giver, "You promised at the conclusion of yesterday's training you would give me the memory of hearing-beyond."

The Giver nodded, smiling. "I'm quite happy to give it to you."

He placed his hands on Jonas's back, transmitting the memory of music.

Jonas closed his eyes and opened his memory-eyes. He stood in a room with two other females. A huge black box stood against one wall. Was it a chest of drawers? But it had no drawers, and projected out about halfway was a block of white. He examined it, and he perceived the word _piano._

One female sat on a bench with her fingers poised on the block of white—_piano keys, _he perceived-, while the other stood at her side. The female on the bench was fourteen years old and the female standing was nine, he knew, as part of the memory.

The female pushed down on the piano keys with her fingers, and as her fingers moved up and down, many sounds seemed to come out of nowhere. Jonas looked around wildly, inside the memory, though he knew they must come from somewhere. And then he realized that they came from the piano. The older female pushed down on the piano keys, and for each piano key there was a specific sound. He looked up and down the row of keys. There must be at least twenty, thirty, fifty, eighty! And each one with a corresponding sound!

He tried to listen to the sounds—music, he realized. This is music. This is what music sounds like.

There were no words to describe music. Words flew into his head that he had never heard, and yet they all described the music perfectly—_unearthly, harmonious, haunting, melodious, euphonious._

They all flowed together perfectly, so beautifully that the music seemed to lift his consciousness and cause feelings to gush within him. Hearing beyond was truly remarkable, as The Giver had said.

The Nine, the female standing, opened her mouth and took a breath. Then she began to speak, but it did not seem to be to anyone in particular. She said, "I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I'd never let you go. When all those shadows almost killed your light."

Then the word _singing_ came to his mind. The female was singing—speaking, but at the same time producing music. Speaking beyond, he thought, the term coming out of nowhere. It seemed to be a term he had produced on his own.

The female continued singing the words—Jonas knew them to be _lyrics, _to a _song— _as the Fourteen continued playing the piano. Jonas knew instinctively that the two things, the music and the singing, were meant to be heard together.

"I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone"  
But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

"Just close your eyes  
The sun is going down  
You'll be alright  
No one can hurt you now  
Come morning light  
You and I'll be safe and sound

"Don't you dare look out your window, darling,  
Everything's on fire  
The war outside our door keeps raging on  
Hold on to this lullaby  
Even when the music's gone  
Gone

"Just close your eyes  
The sun is going down  
You'll be alright  
No one can hurt you now  
Come morning light  
You and I'll be safe and sound

"Oooh, Oooh, Oooh, Oooh  
Oooh, Oooh, Oooh, Oooh  
La La (La La)  
La La (La La)  
Oooh, Oooh, Oooh, Oooh  
Oooh, Oooh, Oooh, Oooh  
La La (La La)

"Just close your eyes  
You'll be alright  
Come morning light,  
You and I'll be safe and sound..."

The nine-year-old finished her last word and smiled, panting slightly, as the fourteen-year-old—her sister, Jonas knew—played the last few notes on the piano.

Then the memory ended. Jonas lay on the bed, taken aback by the abrupt end. He opened his eyes, and realized suddenly, that his face was slightly wet with tears. Embarrassed, Jonas turned, discreetly wiping his face. The Giver put a strong arm around him and used his robe to wipe Jonas's tears, to his humiliation. The boy tried to shake him off, saying, "No—please—I apologize—I don't need—"

"Enough, Jonas," The Giver told him firmly but gently. "Remember what I told you. Nothing is foolish or shameful here. Trust the memories and how they make you feel."

Jonas nodded, still embarrassed. He lay back down on the bed, overcome by the memory, as The Giver watched him. Finally, the old man spoke. "That's one of my favorite memories. Not only because of the hearing-beyond, but because of the children in it as well. So young, yet so-"

Jonas sat up suddenly. "Giver? What do you mean— I apologize for interrupting, sir."

"No apologies here."

"Yes…" Jonas nodded. "Giver, what do you mean when you say that children are in it? There's only one child, the Nine, the one who sings. The other is a Fourteen, I sensed, the one playing the piano…"

"No, Jonas. She's a child. Back in the time of the memories, people were not adults until they were much older than Twelve. Eighteen, usually, or Twenty. Or Twenty-One."

"Twenty-One?" Jonas spoke aloud in wonder. Then he moved on, "Giver… so that was music? That's hearing-beyond?"

The Giver nodded. "Are you a little disappointed?"

"No, Giver, not at all. It's just…I'm… confused."

"Confused about what?"

Jonas tried to sort out what he was feeling, tried to put it into precise language, but he couldn't. "Confused about how the music makes me feel?"

"Could you describe how you feel, right now?"

Jonas nodded, but he warned, "It's not going to be precise, I can't find any way to make it."

"Precision of language doesn't apply here, especially not to music."

Jonas began, "Well… As I was listening, I felt so many different things… The music seemed happy, but at the same time it seemed sad. And at the same time it seemed mysterious, like it was saying something that I couldn't hear—but that's ridiculous anyway, music can't talk. And also, it seemed… hopeful? That's what confused me—how it made me feel."

Jonas let himself talk into silence, and then he remained quiet for a few moments. Then he spoke again. "Giver… You know what I have noticed? When I was a small child, right up until I was a Nine or a Ten, my own feelings seemed so easy, so straightforward. Like my younger sister Lily, she always seems to know how she feels. She's angry because someone broke the play rules, or she's excited because she's getting her bicycle in December, or like that. It was like that for me too, when I was her age. But about a year ago, just before the Ceremony of Twelve, I began having trouble figuring out how I felt. I could hardly understand how I felt about the Ceremony, and I could hardly place a right word to it. Then the Ceremony came, and…. Well, you remember what happened, and over the last year, as I've gotten more and more memories, I've began to understand my own feelings better, but now, when I've heard the music, I can't figure out how I feel again…"

He stopped, realizing how long he'd been talking. But The Giver was listening attentively, taking in each word. Then The Giver said, "Jonas… I think you've reached a critical point in your training. I wasn't expecting it for a long while, but it seems to have come early…"

He trailed off. His eyes were focused elsewhere, and he seemed to be in deep thought. Finally he spoke, "You've absorbed the memories very well, Jonas. Very well."

Jonas smiled, and then he continued, consumed with so many questions about music. "Are there different musics? Like there are different colors?"

"Oh, yes. There are ballads, and there are sonnets, and there are limericks, and nursery rhymes—why, I have a whole world of them, in my memories."

"What was the kind of music you gave me?"

"It was called a lullaby."

"A lullaby," Jonas repeated. The Giver continued, "A lullaby was a sort of song that was sung to help newhchildren sleep at night."

Jonas digested this. Then his head shot up in inspiration. "Giver? You remember Gabriel, the newchild my family is taking care of?"

"Yes. The one who needed extra care?"

"Yes, him. He cries so fretfully at night, they're talking about releasing him. But Giver, I think, if he was given a lullaby, he could sleep quietly at night."

The Giver nodded. "Gabriel has pale eyes, does he?"

Jonas nodded, and suddenly, he knew what he would do tonight. Then, with an uneasy feeling, he realized what The Giver had just said. He met his eyes, and The Giver was looking at him. Did the old man suspect him?

Uncomfortably, he changed the subject. "Giver, in the memory, I perceived a lot of words. I perceived _music_ and _piano_ and _piano keys_ and _singing_, but there were also some words I perceived that are adjectives:_ unearthly, harmonious, haunting, melodious, euphonious._

"They all seemed to describe the music perfectly, but I also tried getting at another word, one that seemed to describe the _feelings_ perfectly, yet I couldn't tell what it was. It seemed to tell how the song was happy and sad and hopeful and mysterious and lingering, all at the same time, mixed together."

"The word was bittersweet."

"Bittersweet."

Jonas fell into silence, thinking hard. It seemed incongruous that the music made him feel happy and sad at the same, and so many other emotions as well. But at the same time, it seemed to be a recurring idea in the memories—that the feelings that grow from them are not easy to analyze, the way the feelings citizens share after the evening meal are simple and straightforward.

"Giver?"

"Yes?"

"I was thinking…although I was crying… I liked the feeling of bittersweet. It made me cry, but at the same time it was… good…"

He trailed off yet again, unable to express himself.

The Twelve was silent through the evening meal. On the bike ride home and in preparations for the evening meal, he had sustained the quiet sense of awe the music had left him with, as well as the bittersweetness. He didn't want to let go of this strange, wonderful new feeling. But even as he tried to remain calm, irritation swelled up inside him. That his family unit was satisfied with their meaningless lives. That they chattered so lightly, so irrelevantly about trivial matters while he contemplated the complexities of music. That there was no way he could give them a shred of his new awareness, no matter how hard he tried.

Which was undoubtedly why he did not even wait for Gabriel to fall asleep in his crib before he gave him the memory of the lullaby. Gabriel slept soundly—what was it the girl had sung?- safe and sound, in his crib, the youngest one of the three lucky bunch in the community of Sameness , to experience this weird sensation, this joy, called music.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Giver_, or _Safe and Sound._ Those belong to Lois Lowry and Taylor Swift, respectively.

I read _The Giver_ a few years ago, and I was rereading it recently when I wondered what might have happened if The Giver gave Jonas the memory of music instead of keeping it for himself. Please review- criticism is welcome, as long as it's constructive!


	2. Chapter 2

For the next several days, Jonas received nothing but memories of music. The Giver decided to give him a break from painful memories and instead focus on music. Each day Jonas received memories of pianos, of violins, of recorders; of symphonies, of solos, of orchestras; and of ballads, hymns, and lullabies. His head hurt at times, when he thought so hard about the new spectrum of sound he experienced. And again, he found himself angry at his family unit and friends, again and again, that they were content with their empty lives.

A week after receiving his first memory of music, he entered the bathroom to clean his teeth and found Lily giving Gabe his evening bath by herself. He reminded her, "You should have an adult with you when you bathe Gabriel."

Lily giggled. "Father said I'm responsible now, so I can bathe Gabriel alone. But he told me to yell if anything bad happens, and that I won't have to give an apology for using my voice too loudly."

He nodded, and she chattered on. "I'm doing all of my volunteer hours in the Nurturing Center. I can feed the newchildren, and I'm even allowed to feed some of them myself—the older ones, because they're more cooperative, and—Jonas, are you _listening?"_

Jonas had been gazing away, lost in his thoughts. Impatiently, Lily grabbed his shoulder with a wet hand and shook him. Jolted out of his thoughts, he shouted, "Lily!" as she sent water and soap flying into his face.

Lily withdrew her hand, horrified by what she'd done. Jonas grabbed a towel and dried himself as best as he could. "Lily, you got my tunic wet," he said resentfully.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "It's just that you weren't listening to me."

Jonas nodded. "I apologize for not listening to you."

"And I apologize for getting your tunic wet."

"I accept your apology," they said in union, then laughed. Gabriel, even though he couldn't understand what was going on, laughed and clapped his hands, spraying them both again with water. "Gabe!" Lily scolded him, although she and Jonas were both laughing.

Lily continued bathing Gabriel as Jonas watched. "Lily?" He said suddenly.

"Hmm?" She said, scrubbing Gabe's toes and tickling his feet.

"What if Gabriel was our little brother?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Jonas, the rules say that each family unit may have only two children. One male, one female."

"Yes… but what if the rules were changed? What if family units could have three children? Then Gabriel could be our third child, our brother."

Lily pondered this. "Yes, I think that would be nice. But the rules don't say so, Jonas."

"Well, he feels like our brother to me."

His sister gave him a withering look. "He's _not_ our brother, Jonas. And I apologize for my rudeness, but I think you're being a little silly."

"I accept your apology," Jonas mumbled. "But it's just—I mean, we bathe him, just like I remember Father used to bathe you, when you were a newchild, and he eats at the table with us, just like you did. And we talk about him, and we worry about him and it's just—it's like he's our brother."

Lily contemplated this. Her hands stopped scrubbing Gabriel and she stood for a few minutes in silence. Gabe looked up at the Eight in deep thought. Finally Lily sighed and began scrubbing Gabriel again. "I agree with your comparison, Jonas, but just because he's _like_ our brother doesn't mean he _is_ our brother."

Jonas sighed. How could he make _anyone_ understand? In the time of the memories, families had been organized not according to assigned children but instead by sharing the same Birthparents. And even then it wasn't blood that dictated family bonds, but love. Love was what he felt for Gabriel, and as far as he was concerned, Gabe was as much his younger sibling as Lily was.

Their father came in at that moment to check on Gabriel. Lily announced, "Father, I know it's disrespectful to speak badly about my elder sibling, but I think Jonas is being very silly."

"Can you describe for me how he has been silly?" Father inquired, helping her towel Gabe dry.

"He says that he feels like Gabriel is our brother. But Gabriel is _not_ our brother."

Father fixed Jonas with a critical eye. He instructed Lily to put the newchild in his crib. Then he turned to Jonas. "Jonas, I think we need to have a little talk."

Jonas was bewildered as his father led him to the dining table and they sat down. Father cleared his throat. "Jonas, do you remember what the pledge that we all signed said when we received Gabriel?"

"It said that the newchild was only a temporary guest and that we could not become attached to him or keep him after a year had concluded."

"That's right." His father continued to stare at him, making Jonas uncomfortable. Finally, his father asked him a question. "Do you think you've been following the pledge that you signed?"

The direct question took Jonas aback. No, he had not been following the pledge, not at all. He wasn't willing to share that with his father, but he also wasn't willing to lie, even if it was in his rules. He instead avoided answering the question. "I'm not sure, Father."

His father leaned back in his chair. "I think you've become too attached to Gabriel, Jonas. Remember that he's just a guest. If you begin to think of him as an addition to our family unit, it'll be hard for you to let go of him when he leaves at the end of the year."

"But what's wrong with that, Father?"

"What's wrong with that? The rules of the community say that each family unit has two children. Not three. And you can't think that Gabriel is your little brother. That would be a lie, right?"

"But Father," Jonas argued, struggling to find words to make his point. "I know I signed the pledge, but how can _rules_ control our feelings? And also—what's wrong with my feelings? I just care for Gabriel, the same way that I have always cared for Lily, ever since she was added to our family unit."

"If you're having trouble with your feelings, Jonas, you can talk about it at the evening ritual. We can help you with them. That's why we share our feelings every night," His father smiled, as though that settled the matter.

"But—but—but—" Jonas was appalled at the way his father waved away feelings, as though they were mere banalities. Then he reminded himself that that was the way that everyone in the community handled feelings. He instead tried a different angle to make his father see. Jonas was hesitant, knowing that it would mean breaking yet another rule. Then he threw caution to the winds, seeing as he had broken just about every rule he had ever known.

"But Father—in the course of my training, the Giv—the Receiver of Memory shared with me some history from several years ago. You might remember it, but I don't, because it was before my birth. A lot of citizens came to the Committee of Elders with the plan that each Birthmother would have four children instead of three, so that our population is larger and we have more Laborers."

His father laughed. "That plan sounds wonderful, but it would mean a one-third increase in my work each day. And where would all those extra children go?"

"Another part of the plan said that certain families would take care of a third child."

His father grew contemplative for a moment. "That plan makes sense… But why was it not passed?"

Jonas paused. He realized that there was no way he could explain why without going into the details of the memories, so instead he lied, "The Receiver didn't specify the reason why. But it's certainly an interesting idea, don't you think?"

His father got up. "I agree that it's an interesting idea, but it wouldn't have been a practical idea, for whatever reason it wasn't passed."

Jonas watched his father leave the room, feeling more and more dismayed. No one understood. No one had the memories, and no one would ever understand.

The next afternoon in the Annex, The Giver again introduced a new topic from the memories. As Jonas sat down, The Giver asked him, "Do you recall the game of Creative Comparisons?"

Jonas nodded. Creative Comparisons had been a game he played many years ago when he was a Six or a Seven. In the game, each member of the group had to come up with a comparison between two things that did not seem to be alike. One person was the judge and decided who had come up with the most creative comparison.

The game had been mostly discouraged, because creative comparisons used too many words when there was always a more precise word. Sometimes in their speech people would turn to creative comparisons to describe something, but for the most part citizens of the community preferred to use more concise and precise language. The children, being young, had also quickly grown tired of a game that was mostly about words.

The Giver said, "This memory has to do with creative comparisons. That's only a small part of the memory, but I'll let it explain itself."

With that he transmitted the memory.

Jonas found himself in a classroom full of Nines—_fourth –graders, _the word used in the time of memories to refer to Nines in a school setting. The instructor ordered the students to take a sheet of blank white paper and fold it into fourths.

"Children, today we are going to learn about figurative language."

The lesson went on, as the children learned about many different kinds of figurative language: similes, metaphors, personification, alliteration, idioms, hyperbole, and onomatopoeia. Similes and metaphors were both forms of creative comparisons, but the other kinds were very different.

The memory ended, but Jonas remained inert on the bed, trying to absorb the memory. When finally he spoke, it was one word. "_Why?_"

"Why what?" The Giver queried interestedly.

"_Why_ did they have to remove figurative language? It's such a wonderful thing! It encourages creativity!"

A crease appeared between the old man's eyebrows, taken aback by the Receiver's vehemence. Jonas continued, "I don't understand why they never liked the game of Creative Comparisons either. It was always so much fun."

"_Jonas_."

The Giver forced Jonas to look him squarely in the eye. "Listen to me, son. I agree with you that many of the things in the memories are fun, and interesting, and possibly even harmless. But there's a reason for everything, isn't there? There was a reason for the removal of each and every one of these things. And don't you think we're much better off without them?"

Jonas couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't even blink. All that he could say was through the betrayal in his eyes. Even The Giver did not understand. Not a single soul except for Jonas understood the truth.

**_Author's Note: _**_ I don't know if anyone is reading this, but I always noticed how little figurative language there is in _The Giver_. This is undoubtedly because of the whole precision of language thing. Toward the end, however, Jonas begins to think less literally, most notably in the part where he realizes that although he's starving now, the right choice was to leave the community because there he would have been starving for a life of vibrancy. In my personal headcanon, as he became more and more invested in the memories and grew further away from the community's ideals of austerity and simplicity, Jonas's use of figurative language became more and more profuse. Please review!_


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